


straining under the weight of the lives I'm not living

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, Blood and Gore, Desperation, Drabble, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, I Tried, I only mentioned that because I wrote this with that in mind, I'm Sorry, Kidnapping, Louis is the one that was already there, M/M, Why Did I Write This?, bye, byeeee, enjoy, have fun, i forgot to mention that before i said bye, i guess, kind of like, not graphically, okay so, so um, that's actually it, that's literally it - Freeform, the characters are Harry and Louis but their names are never said, this is shit, uhhhh, ummm - Freeform, unnecessarily dramatic, you'll get it when you read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-09 22:14:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13490877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: An over dramatic drabble in which Harry gets kidnapped and Louis was kidnapped before him.  This is how they meet.





	straining under the weight of the lives I'm not living

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own One Direction. (I can't afford that, let's be real) This is shit. I'm sorry. Also I don't know how to tag, but we won't talk about that. Thank you for reading, though.

He pulled against the ropes with all of his might. His biceps screamed as his muscles tore, his lungs shouted as the air left his body faster than it arrived, his skin screamed as the rope burned it from his pale body. Nothing worked. No matter how hard he pulled, how loud he screamed, how much skin he lost, the ropes were still there to tie him to his misery. He wanted to let his eyes close so he could fall asleep, but he continued to pull. He pulled and pulled and pulled until a voice broke him out of his trance.

"Don't bother, mate." The rasp whispered, in a voice so exhausted he wanted to cry. He looked up to find the owner of the pessimistic advice giving him a pathetic smile. 

He let his eyes travel, down from the boy’s hollow cheeks to his cracked ribs and then to the ribs that were poking through the holes of his shirt. Down the legs littered with bruises from the concrete floor, and to the small feet covered in threadbare socks. Then all the way back to his wrists. His wrists, covered in blood and pain. Fresh gashes in his caramel skin, from the rope sawing into his flesh. The scent of desperation flowed heavily from the boy, who could barely keep his swollen eyes open.

“I already tried.”


End file.
